


The R-t of Subtlety

by PieceOfCait



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Grantaire - Freeform, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 02:13:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17417066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieceOfCait/pseuds/PieceOfCait
Summary: “You look a right treat,” Courfeyrac grins. “Still think you can pull this off?”“Still want me to try?” Grantaire shoots back, a cocky smirk twisting his lip. “I’ve done a lot worse for a lot less.”Or, the one where the weekly Amis de l'ABC meeting gets disrupted in the darndest way.





	The R-t of Subtlety

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal love, gratitude and praise to [ShitpostingfromtheBarricade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/pseuds/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade) for not only inspiring me to actually finish a fic but also beta-ing the hell out of it.  
> You the real MVP.
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: alcohol, gambling, and implied sexual content.

“Evening, Chickens!” Courfeyrac beams as he bursts into the back room of the Musain. He’s one of the last to arrive, which is unusual though not unprecedented.

A chorus of greetings chimes from the group. Joly and Bossuet raise their half-full glasses while Jehan and Bahorel send toothy grins. Combeferre glances up from his laptop with a small smile and even Enjolras interrupts his discussion with Feuilly to send a “Hey Courf!” his way.

There is a space on the wall cleared, and Ferre’s mini-projector is sitting on the table, buoying Courf’s spirits further. It appears they’re in for one of Enj’s epic slideshows, which is the best case scenario for today’s mischief.

“Oh good,” comes a voice from the doorway behind him. “I’ve been waiting all day to call you an ass to your face.”

“I forget how you had no input whatsoever into the parameters of this arrangement.” Courfeyrac smirks with an appreciative raise of his eyebrow. 

Grantaire looks rather fetching in the borrowed three-piece suit. It’s a couple of inches short at the ankles, but R’s broad shoulders distract from that, making the fabric stretch snug across his chest. He’s even attempted to tame his hair.

“You look a right treat,” Courf grins, eyes lit with mischief. “Still think you can pull this off?”

“Still want me to try?” Grantaire shoots back, a cocky smirk twisting his lip. “I’ve done a lot worse for a lot less.”

“Taire!” Jehan’s voice breaks the conversation from across the room. “Are you in a  _ suit _ ?”

“Indeed!” Grantaire and Courf both stride towards the table. R takes his usual seat nearest the door while Courfeyrac sits almost exactly opposite him, managing to ruffle both Combeferre’s hair and notes in the process of getting comfortable.

“What’s the occasion?” Bahorel asks, straightening his own waistcoat.

“Do I need an occasion to dress smart?” Grantaire grins.

“ _ I _ don’t, but you sure as hell do.”

“True.” Grantaire shuffles in his seat, pulling at his tie as his eyes dart to Courf. “I came into some money, figured I’d celebrate.”

Courfeyrac snorts.

“Charming,” Enjolras directs at Courfeyrac before glancing to Grantaire. “You look good, R.”

There’s more than a few furtive glances toward the man in question as Enjolras clears his throat.

“Shall we start?”

At the scattering of agreement Enjolras nods at Ferre to pull up the PowerPoint presentation he’d no doubt spent zero time animating.

Courfeyrac sips at his merlot as Enjolras launches headfirst into the pros and cons of each candidate in the upcoming local elections.

Having fielded more than a few phone calls on the topic already, Courfeyrac tries to pretend he feels guilty as he lets his focus wander. He glances at Grantaire just in time to see him slip the loosened tie from his neck, eyes forward and locked onto Enjolras as he neatly rolls the silk and places it on the table.

The raise of Grantaire’s eyebrow is enough for Courfeyrac to know his attention has been noted.

He focuses back to the Times New Roman-riddled slideshow now ranking which candidates most align with the political attitudes of the ABC.

The softest metallic clink has Courf glancing back to Grantaire. Joly also looks, and it isn’t until Joly returns to facing the front that Grantaire’s belt is sat next to his tie.

Courfeyrac hides his grin behind his wine glass.

The loss of the suit jacket draws Bahorel and Jehan’s notice, but given the warmth of the room it is easily excused without comment.

Courfeyrac stares at Enjolras but doesn’t hear a word he’s saying. 

The tie and the belt are low hanging fruit. Two Euro a pop is nothing that he’ll lose sleep over. The jacket is worth five, which is also fine. Grantaire could stop now and have covered the cost of his pint. But from the quiet shuffling sounds coming from the far end of the table, R is making a move on one of the bigger ticket items.

_ “Subtlety, thy name is R,”  _ he’d proclaimed the previous evening from the bottom of a horrifically cheap bottle of red. At Courfeyrac’s resulting snort the gamble had been wagered and the stakes set. 

He sneaks another glance at Grantaire under the guise of refilling his glass.

Grantaire’s waistcoat is gone, folded and sitting atop the table in front of him beside what surely must be his trousers. 

Oof. That takes the total to just shy of forty Euros. 

Courfeyrac’s eyes dart around the table, imploring any of his friends to notice, to say something.  _ Anything _ . The bet is only valid if Grantaire stays under the radar. 

Of course, he can't really blame his friends for not noticing: Grantaire clearly timed the removal of his more crucial articles to occur during Enjolras's evisceration of various politician’s tweets; the most consistently entertaining portion of every meeting.

_ No one can resist the Enjol-sass _ , he thinks with a pout.

Still, he mock-scowls as R sets his cufflinks atop the garments and silently moves his nimble fingers to his shirt buttons. His smirk is impish, the picture of mischief. Courfeyrac doubts his eyes have left Enjolras throughout his apparently-unnoticed striptease.

Dragging his gaze away to avoid unfairly drawing attention (and thus forfeiting), Courfeyrac drains his glass.

Bahorel snorts, blending it into a cough. Enjolras hardly breaks his stride, too focused on referencing a quote from his notes.

Joly muffles a squeak as Jehan gasps, Bossuet manages to lose half his beer to his lap as he jolts, Feuilly’s shoulders shake in silent laughter, and Combeferre murmurs a faint “ _ Christ _ .”

_ Still _ no one says anything directly to the cause of the commotion, and Courfeyrac feels his wallet wilt as he turns to see for himself. 

Smoothing a crease in his folded shirt, Grantaire pushes his chair back from the table to reveal a very patriotic set of briefs in place of the agreed upon tighty-whiteys.

Enjolras’s voice dies mid-sentence as he finally, finally,  _ finally _ notices Grantaire. His brow furrows, squinting as his head tilts to the side.

“Grantaire,” he says quietly, walking around the table to R as every Amis waits on the edge of their seat for his reaction. “Are those my pants?”

R wets his lip as the room’s focus shifts to him. “Possession  _ is _ nine-tenths of the law, Apollo,” he grins as he takes a deep breath, “and seeing as you left them at  _ my  _ apartment…”

In the silence of everyone scrambling to make sense of the implication, Enjolras laughs.

“Well.” He grips the back of Grantaire’s chair as he leans over him, a hopelessly fond grin lighting his features, “that’s one way to break the news.”

His free hand tilts a laughing Grantaire’s chin up, thumb swiping at his bottom lip before kissing him soundly.

Courfeyrac thinks it’s possibly the most fun he’s ever had losing a bet.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: this was inspired by an actual friend of mine who got bored in a work meeting one day and decided to see how many items of clothing they could remove before someone said something. 
> 
> They made it to the shirt stage and got a write up in their personnel file.
> 
>  
> 
> Find a sketch on Enj in his France Pants [here!](https://thepiecesofcait.tumblr.com/post/178665265796/day-two-of-inktober-and-im-not-entirely-sure-how)


End file.
